


Victory

by Sulwen



Category: Professional Wrestling, World Wrestling Entertainment
Genre: Denial of Feelings, Dom/sub Undertones, Ex Sex, Face-Fucking, Frottage, Infidelity, Kayfabe Compliant, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Possessive Behavior, Semi-Public Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-01-30
Updated: 2019-01-30
Packaged: 2019-10-18 22:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,530
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17589725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Sulwen/pseuds/Sulwen
Summary: "You came to me, Johnny. You came to my side. You must have had a reason."





	Victory

**Author's Note:**

> Set after Takeover: Phoenix.
> 
> Please heed the tags. The dubcon is mild, mostly Johnny being internally conflicted, but the infidelity is definitely there.
> 
> To that note, I want to make clear that this story is set in kayfabe, about the characters portrayed in a TV show, not about the real people playing them. Please be cool and don't link those real people to fic.

The brawl ends in a blur, Hunter's voice overpowering all of them and scattering them to opposite ends of the arena. Cole mutters something under his breath and stalks off, likely looking to surround himself with his boys. Johnny is left standing in a cluttered hallway, his new title belt in hand, unable to take his eyes away from the man in front of him.

Tommaso is staring right back, clutching his own belt to his chest with both arms. The look on his face takes Johnny by surprise. Johnny had thought he'd be gloating, having defended the title in such decisive fashion. But it's not greedy joy, or a sardonic sneer, or hot-burning, violent rage. He looks...open, somehow. Pleased. Closer to the old Tommaso than Johnny has seen since...well. Best not to dig up the past just yet. There will be plenty of time for that, laying awake in bed with Candice breathing slow and steady beside him. Now, in this moment, he has to think about the present. Has to, because seeing Tommaso look at him like that, a terrible warmth coming into his eyes, his body leaning forward as he moves to close the distance between them, even his death grip on the belt loosening as he begins to reach out...

"Stop," Johnny hears himself saying, even as something in him aches to reach back.

Tommaso freezes, but his expression doesn't change, and his voice is honey-sweet when he speaks. "You came to me, Johnny. You came to my side. You must have had a reason."

He did. He just isn't sure what it was anymore.

At Johnny's silence, Tommaso begins to approach again, slowly, as if Johnny is a skittish animal who might scurry away. If he had any sense, that's what he would be doing, pride be damned. If there's one thing he's learned about Tommaso over the past year, it's how dangerous his former partner can be.

Tommaso is close now, close enough that Johnny can feel the heat radiating off him. He's still sweaty from his match, has hardly had time to get his breath back. The smell of his sweat is so fucking familiar, and Johnny shudders, licks his lips without thinking. He knows what Tommaso's skin tastes like, still wet after a grueling match. He hasn't forgotten.

"Johnny," Tommaso says, voice lower now. Intimate. Their eyes are still locked. Johnny has to look up at him to do it as he gets closer, just the barest inch, and it shouldn't matter but it does, an inch that feels like a mile. "It felt good, didn't it? Standing together, titles raised. It's what I've been trying to tell you all along. This is who we are."

Johnny wants badly to argue, to tell Tommaso that he's wrong, that he has no business defining who Johnny is. But something in him has shifted, something important at his core, and he thinks he's done with lying to Tommaso. To himself. It _had_ felt good.

He can't bring himself to admit as much, not yet. Instead, he says, "Nice work, taking out Aleister. He doesn't make it easy." He voice is shaking, no matter how he works to keep his tone light.

Tommaso gives a low, dismissive huff. "Interloper. You were right to get him out of the way. I just finished the job."

"And now..." Johnny trails off. He honestly doesn't know how to finish that sentence. He hears an echo of Candice's voice in his head and wishes she were here.

A smile spreads slowly across Tommaso's face, a warm, proud thing that makes Johnny feel terrifyingly close to tears. "Oh, Johnny. Have you even looked at what you have? Really looked?"

Johnny's confused for a second. Then Tommaso nods down toward the title in his hand. Johnny had almost forgotten he was carrying it, as heavy as it is. And Tommaso's right again. So caught up in the whirlwind events of the evening, he hasn't had a moment to examine his prize.

It's seriously heavy. He'd noticed that right away, how much bigger it was than the tag title belt had been. It has an old-fashioned look, too, the leather rich and deep, the NXT logo smaller and more subtle than the other titles, leaving room for a map of North America done in white gold. He knows that the title is still new, that it doesn't have the history or weight to truly make him the champion of all the territory that map lays out...but someday, perhaps someday soon, it will.

It's beautiful, and it's his, it's his, it's _his._ All the blood, all the desperate fighting, pushing himself so hard he had fractured in the process, finally worth it.

A flash of gold catches his eye, and he glances up to see Tommaso bringing his own belt to his lips, placing a deliberate kiss on the sideplate, holding Johnny's gaze the whole time. Johnny follows suit without thinking, raising the belt to his face, the unyielding press of gold cool against his heated lips. Tommaso's eyes are fire, his breathing starting to become ragged, and he breaks his stare for the first time, dropping his eyes just a bit to fixate on the place where Johnny's lips are still pressed to the title.

Everything happens at once, then. Tommaso shifts the belt to one hand and takes Johnny by the chin with the other, walking him back until he hits the nearest wall, his lips crashing in on Johnny's a split-second later. Johnny yields to him, easy as anything, head tilting up and mouth opening. It's overwhelming, hot and aggressive, and it lights Johnny up from the inside like nothing else ever has. He imagines he can taste the gold in Tommaso's mouth, thinks ludicrously that he's taking back every one of the kisses Tommaso has given away, taunted him with. He's making too much noise, or Tommaso is, or maybe it's both of them, desperation overwhelming sense. Too long, it's been ages too long, and why had they ever stopped doing this in the first place?

They're both in trunks, but only Johnny has a shirt, and he seizes on the chance to touch, letting his belt slip to the floor and running both hands over the shifting muscles of Tommaso's back. He hasn't been able to keep from staring at him all year, the familiar planes of Tommaso's body expanded and hardened with his time off. He could feel the change in the ring during their matches, strength that could overwhelm and drown. He had thought about it after, that packed-on muscle, when he had been alone and desperate, mind wandering as he stroked himself in the shower and imagined what else that strength could do.

Against his mouth, Tommaso breaks the kiss and grins against Johnny's lips. He lets go of Johnny's chin and drags his t-shirt up by the hem, exposing his chest and pressing in after, all-encompassing, claustrophobic. Johnny moans out loud at the feeling of skin on skin, at their hips and legs falling together just right to begin to grind, at the deep, sucking kisses Tommaso starts to lay in on his throat.

They're both hard, but Johnny feels like he's on the edge already, seconds from ending this embarrassingly early. And the thing is, Tommaso knows him, knows his body like an extension of his own. It's what makes their matches together electric, and it's what makes Johnny so vulnerable to Tommaso's attacks. Tommaso knows his every weakness. He doesn't miss this one.

He tears himself away from leaving a bruising kiss on Johnny's neck and grins, and this time he does look like the self-satisfied bastard Johnny has come to know, luxuriating in victory.

"Fuck, you needed this, didn't you? Poor neglected little Johnny. Dying for it, all this time, when all you had to do was play nice," Tommaso says, working his hips, driving Johnny higher on that delicious friction.

Johnny wants to get him back for that, find something snappy and cutting to say, but he can't think, he can hardly remember his own name, because Tommaso isn't wrong, he keeps _not being wrong,_ and it's devastating. "Shut up," he says, but it's weak, and his voice nearly breaks, and Tommaso laughs his dark laugh.

"Gonna give it up for me right here," he mutters, lips against Johnny's ear. "Shoot it right in your trunks, out in the open where anyone could see. You know I won't mind. Everyone here already knows who you belong to."

Johnny should hate that, rage against it with everything in him. A part of him does. And another part, one he's been resisting for a very long time, knows that Tommaso's _still_ not wrong. He bites his lip hard and throws his head back against the wall, saying nothing. If nothing else, Tommaso won't get the satisfaction of hear him beg.

"Oh?" Tommaso says then, and even though Johnny is staring at the ceiling, furiously avoiding that treacherous eye contact, he know Tommaso's raising his eyebrows, a faux-surprised look he wears often when he's feeling solidly in control. "You think you can hold back? Think you can resist me?"

The title falls to the floor with a clatter, and even through everything else, Johnny feels a flash of surprise, and almost...victory? Ridiculous to feel jealous of an inanimate object, and yet here he is, feeling an all-over flush of warm satisfaction as Tommaso finally gets both hands on him, dragging his t-shirt off over his head before crashing into him again. One hand buries itself in his hair and pulls, forcing his head even further back and exposing his throat. The other slides around his waist to dip into his trunks, getting a proprietary handful of his ass and using it to press them even closer. Johnny doesn't know what to do with his hands, wants to push Tommaso away, wants to clutch him tight and never let go, wants to choke the smirk off his smug fucking face. He ends up with his arms wrapped around Tommaso's back, short nails digging into his skin, deep enough to mark him. Neither one of them is getting out of this unscarred.

"Come on, Johnny. You're right there. Do it for me," Tommaso says, and crushes their lips together again, just in time to swallow Johnny's cries as pleasure and humiliation twist, combine, and drag him over the edge. He comes uncontrollably in his trunks, practically on command, and it's just a fucking dry hump in an arena hallway, and it's so good, _too_ good.

He sags against Tommaso's body, letting himself be held up as he floats on the aftermath. When he comes down enough to think again, he finds Tommaso's arms around him, cradling him, one hand gently stroking his hair and Tommaso's voice murmuring in his ear.

"So good for me, Johnny, perfect. You're so good. Missed this. Missed _you._ I never..."

Tommaso trails off, and Johnny's throat goes tight, eyes beginning to water no matter how hard he blinks the tears back. He cannot, absolutely cannot do this right now. There's too much, and if the walls start to come down now, everything he's been holding back for years is going to come pouring out. He does the first thing he can think of to wrench them back onto familiar territory. Something easy, something made natural with long practice.

He slips to his knees.

Whatever Tommaso was going to say is choked off in surprise. Johnny folds his arms behind his back, parts his lips, and looks up at Tommaso with unfeigned pleading in his eyes. He ignores the mess in his trunks and waits, knowing what will come next. Tommaso's not the only one who knows how to exploit a weakness.

"Christ, Johnny," Tommaso mutters, and in the next moment he's got his cock out, one hand behind Johnny's head to brace him, the other guiding his dick into Johnny's waiting mouth. Johnny can't help moaning as he's flooded with sense memories, the smell of him, the _taste_ of him, the rough strokes just on the right side of too much. Johnny relaxes into it like they'd never stopped, opening himself up to Tommaso's need, focusing on breathing and taking it and nothing else. And Tommaso doesn't hesitiate, thrusting deep and hard, fucking Johnny's face the way he knows Johnny can take. He's talking again, but Johnny doesn't want to hear it, doesn't want everything that comes with "good" and "mine" and "love."

Johnny lurches forward, swallowing Tommaso's cock until his nose is pressed up against Tommaso's body, choking on it and forcing himself to fight through the instinct to pull away. Tommaso's fingers go tight in his hair, and Johnny reaches up, flailing, clutching at Tommaso's waist and holding on as Tommaso comes, first into his throat, then onto his tongue, then messy and hot on his lips, painting them white as Johnny swallows and coughs and swallows again.

A moment passes, silent but for the sound of their twinned raspy breathing. Johnny blinks first, pulling himself together and risking a look at Tommaso's face.

He's staring down at Johnny, eyes wide and face flushed dark red. As Johnny watches, his arms come up to wrap around his middle, and he takes a stumbling step backward. Johnny may be the one on his knees, come on his face and cooling in his trunks, but Tommaso is the one who looks absolutely _wrecked._ Suddenly Johnny isn't thinking about the betrayal, or the insults, or the torture Tommaso's put him through. He's thinking about how lonely it must have been, all those months of rehab, then all those victories, no one to celebrate with but the title itself. Something clicks in his head, then, about this whole twisted saga of theirs, and his heart aches, and he's reaching out...

The last thing Johnny sees on Tommaso's face is pure fear, as he snatches up his title and hurries away, hardly pausing to tuck his dick back into his trunks as he goes. Johnny watches him leave, falling back to sit against the wall and licking the last of the come off his lips. He needs to move soon. Shower. Dress. Go home. Take what he has coming to him from Candice. It'll be bad enough just with what aired on TV. He has no idea what he's going to tell her about this. If he's going to tell her about this.

His title is within arm's reach, and he drags it onto his knees, admiring again the way it shines even under dim fluorescents. It feels christened, now. Like it's really his. He knows what he'll be thinking of every time he holds it from now on.

He looks down the hall where Tommaso diappeared one more time. Then he shoves himself to his feet and takes off in the opposite direction. His jaw aches. His neck throbs with what will definitely be mouth-shaped bruises. There are things behind walls inside him, things that are too dangerous to let out. And yet...Johnny smiles. Tonight, he won.


End file.
